Apocalypse
This story is for Teen readers. It was written by me, Phatwillephatwille, and it is about a modern Zombie Apocalypse. Some scenes depict death/dying, but they are not very graphic. Please note that all characters and events have come from the imagination of the author. Let's begin, shall we? APOCALYPSE: Chapter One January 3rd, 2033, nine days after the day of reckoning Moscow, Russia The night wind wailed violently against the shattered remains of the building. All the windows were broken, some were crudely boarded up with whatever lumber was lying around. On the inside, shards of glass were scattered around, as if the windows had been broken from the outside. It was so cold, being the beginning of January, that very few living creatures could survive for long on the lightless, and lifeless, streets of a Moscow night. The small building was clearly uninhabitable by anything other than rats, and only those few rats strong enough to survive the cold. Yet, something stirred in the center of the building. Something much larger than a rat. It sat, quietly shivering in the cold. It, or he rather, since it was a human, was bundled in a few rags, mostly torn to shreds, and providing only minimal protection from the bitter cold. There was a break in the silence, as a door, the only entrance into the building, creaked softly. The man stood up suddenly, and turned towards the door. “W-who’s there?” he cried softly, stuttering not from the cold, but from fear. The wind blew again, and the door creaked again. The man sighed. It must have been the wind. He sat back down, this time facing the door. An hour or so passed, in complete silence. Even the wind had died down. The man had fallen asleep, grateful to have found a safe place from them. In the morning, when it wasn’t so blasted cold, and he could see where he was going, the man would venture out and find some civilization. But for now, he would get some much needed relaxation. Just then, a loud bang against the door erupted, waking the man up in a fright. He jumped to his feet, grasping the only weapon he had with him, which was a metal crowbar he had picked up a few days prior. He approached the door quickly and quietly. There was whispering on the other side. He put his ear to the door to hear the exchange. They whispered so quietly that he couldn’t quite hear what they were saying. It really didn’t matter, since if they could talk, they must be human. He dropped his crowbar, and opened the door. The two pairs of red eyes that stared back at him was all that he needed to see to realize he had made a mistake. Chapter 2 December 23rd, 2032, eleven days earlier, two days before day of reckoning Portland, Oregon Daniel Kingston sat across from the love of his life, Laura Parker. They had been dating for just two years. Today was their two year anniversary, and Daniel planned to ask Laura to marry him today. It was nearing the end of the night. They had spent all day together, starting early with a church service, then to lunch. Afterwards they spent most of the day out on the town. Finally, on the eve of Christmas eve, here they were. They were settling down to eat a fantastic meal, overlooking a nice view of the city. “Daniel,” Laura said as the waiter took their empty plates. “This has been a fantastic night.” Daniel smiled. His hand natural reached into his pocket, feeling the velvet box that held his commitment to her. “It has, hasn’t it?” He responded, lost in her beautiful eyes. Laura flashed a loving smile at him, and brushed away a nonexistent stray hair from her brow. She was so beautiful. How did I get so lucky, thought Daniel, observing her simple elegance as she gazed out towards the night. A soft breeze blew, and Laura’s dark brown hair blew back slightly in a way that made Daniel feel like the luckiest man in the world. The box containing the ring was out of his pocket now. He still held it under the table, as he tried his best not to choke in these last moments before his proposal. “Laura,” Daniel began. Laura turned towards him, blue eyes staring at him, as if staring into his soul. “Do you know what today is?” Laura smiled. “Of course I know what today is. Today is our two year anniversary of when we first started our relationship.” Daniel nodded. “Today is also special for another reason,” Daniel stood up from the table, pulling out the ring and kneeling on one knee next to her. “Today is the day I ask you, Laura Parker, to marry me.” Laura stood up, tears forming. She smiled greatly, and answered. “Yes, Daniel, Yes!” she cried embracing him. The two spent the rest of the night together under the stars. Daniel Kingston finally had everything he had ever wanted in life. Nothing could take it away from him, he thought. Such prideful thoughts most always spell certain doom for those involved. Chapter 3 December 25th, 2032, the day of reckoning Haiti The Bokor approached the man who lay on his operating table. The man was strapped down so he could not escape. He was dead; he had been since at least a few days before the Bokor found him. “Don’t worry, frail human, my magic is powerful enough to bring you back to life. You will be the first to become one of my immortal warriors. Do what I say, and all will go right for us.” The Bokor pulled out a knife, and stuck it in the center of the dead man’s chest. He pulled it back out, and then turned around. The Bokor reached out and picked up a small vile, filled with a powder. He held the vile out over the wound, and then poured it into the wound. The Bokor watched as the powder dissolved into the wound. Once the last of it dissolved, the Bokor picked up another vile of a powder, and dumped it in the wound. Once the second powder had fully dissolved, the Bokor picked up a needle, and began sewing the wound back together. When the Bokor finished, the wound was completely gone, as if it had never been there. The Bokor slowly untied the man from the table. He remained lifeless, as the Bokor expected. But not for much longer. The Bokor lifted the lifeless man from the table and set him inside a wooden casket. He closed the lid and nailed it shut. With that done, the Bokor left the operating room, then the house that it was in, and finally, the Bokor pulled a ticket, showed it to the captain of the small ship he approached, and prepared to leave Haiti for a long time. “Excuse me,” a hand touched the Bokor’s shoulder. “Are you from around here?” The Bokor nodded at the woman who had asked him. “Oh, good! I was worried that maybe, well… never mind,” She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I am wondering if there is a doctor in the village here?” “No, there is not one. The closest would be in the next village. He is a good doctor.” The Bokor left her and sat down. The Bokor did not like talking to people, and since the woman was the only other person on the ship, it would be difficult. But the Bokor had triumphed over many much more difficult feats. And so the ship took off from the Haitian village. Not many hours passed until the woman left, seeking out a doctor, and for the next four days, the Bokor sat in silence, awaiting the destination sought. This destination would be the safe haven from the death that would follow the day of reckoning. Soon… very soon. Chapter 4 Same day Haiti The woman got off the boat, heading into the small Haitian village where the other passenger had told her a doctor was available. As she headed into the village, she approached the hut that had the word: “doctor” on it in Haitian. She knocked on the door several times. She could hear noises on the inside of the hut, and someone was shuffling closer to the door. She heard a couple of words, and it appeared whoever was on the other side was quite overwhelmed with whatever was happening in the hut. The woman supposed the doctor must be very busy, being the closest doctor in 50 miles. The door to the hut unlocked and opened. The woman peered inside. Nobody welcomed her, so she stepped inside. The hut had about 4 rooms, and they were all open except for one, which had a closed door. The only sounds were coming from that room, so she headed closer. She was about to knock when the front door to the hut had another knock at it. She turned around, and decided to open it for the doctor. Opening the front door, she saw a young, very healthy, Haitian boy. He was probably about twelve years old. “Hello, young man, do you need the doctor?” she asked him in Haitian. The boy shook his head, and passed by her, heading towards the other door. To her surprise, the boy walked right in. After a moment, she decided to head in herself. She walked inside. The little boy sat quietly in a chair in the farthest corner of the room. A man was facing away from her, hunched over something. As she got a little closer, the woman noticed that the man, most likely the doctor, was hunched over a patient. The patient, an elderly Haitian man, lay unconscious on a makeshift operating table. Well, for all the woman new, the patient might have been dead, and being experimented on by the doctor. She stood behind the doctor, silently, seeing exactly what he was doing. It appeared he was doing surgery on the man. She was still quiet, until she saw the doctor take a vile of some powder and start pouring it into the man’s open wound. This was exactly what she needed. “Stop what you’re doing!” She cried, pulling a gun from her waist and pointing it at he doctor. The surprised doctor dropped the vile and turned, putting his hands in the air. The little boy, who had been watching her the whole time, didn’t move an inch. “What do you want from me!?” The doctor cried. She ignored his question and proceeded to handcuff him and lay him on the floor. “Detective Chelsea Franklin,” She said as she was doing this. “You are under arrest for defiling a grave, performing illegal operations, and attempting to reanimate a human being for personal gain.” After tightening the cuffs as tight as she humanly could, which she still thought was more human than he deserved, she added. “You make me sick,” in English. Detective Chelsea Franklin finished with all her additional official police work, called the case in, and then called it a night. The police showed up quickly, as they had been waiting nearby, and Chelsea Franklin hopped in a ferry and headed home to Washington D.C. Home sweat home, she thought. Capitol of the greatest civilization ever to live so far. She smiled. After stopping a huge potential disaster like this herself, Chelsea felt pretty good. She might take a few days off after this. Travelling to Haiti wasn’t exactly a vacation. Maybe Costa Rica… ya, that sounded good Chapter 5 Same day New York City, New York “Panic was spreading through New York. Someone had leaked classified information, and the people were panicking. The person who had leaked this information? The President himself. That wasn’t the worst part. After declaring this news, the President was assassinated by one of his own cabinet members, on live television. The remaining government leaders took control of the meeting and attempted to make up some story about the President being paid by Terrorist leaders to spread panic, and that we should all ignore it. Personally, I didn’t believe a word of it. Hello America, and welcome to a very special addition of Major Issues with me, Bobby Kringle. As most of you by now should know, the President, only about two hours ago, announced that the apocalypse is upon us. Reanimated human beings have recently been spotted in Haiti. There have also been unconfirmed reports that there have been a few sightings in Japan, Madagascar, Brazil, and closer to home, Quebec, Canada. I advice you to stay calm, and allow the governments of these countries to deal with these problems as they see fit. Please do not panic, because these reanimated people are not going to cause any problem within the borders of any of the US states. For safety, all imports and exports have been stopped, as have all entries into the US. You are encouraged to continue your lives as before, and this problem should be done away with soon. Now to you, Kirk Goodman, with the weather.” Bobby sighed softly as the camera turned off and Kirk began the weather report. It was going to be another sunny day in New York for Bobby, and he believed every word he had said in his news report. Nothing was going to make it into the USA alive… or dead, or undead or whatever. His sigh was actually because of that fact. He didn’t let it be known, but Bobby Kringle was a big zombie nerd. He had read tons of books about he subject, and was actually excited when he found out it might actually happen. But he had always suspected the government would wipe it out before it started. The government had already acted a little hasty when they had the Speaker of the House murder the President in front of millions of viewers. But, the Speaker was in jail now, the VP was a good man, and would be put in charge, and well… nobody really like the President that much anyway, aside from a few hardcore fans that had voted for him every four years since he had first ran in 2016. But, away from politics, thought Bobby. That was his job, not his life. He could go home now, and relax. Maybe prepare for the zombie apocalypse survival on the off chance these make it to the US. Chapter 6 A prison in Washington D.C. December 26, 2032 The Speaker of the House, 23 years old, the youngest Speaker in America, was being escorted to his secure cell. The super secret higher ups in the government had used him as a scapegoat for murdering the President. He wasn’t supposed to go to actual jail! They were just going to hide him away and give him everything he wanted for the rest of his life. But they lie to him instead, and toss him into a cell for him to rot. The ex- Speaker’s name was Kenneth Davidson II, named after his father. Kenneth was led by two guards that said nothing at all. All they did was shove him through a dark corridor in what he though might have been a building built inside a cave. When they reached the end of the corridor, there was just one cell, completely empty, not even a bed or toiled. Just a room. This was obviously a room that he would be put in, and left with potentially no care, until he died. What a way to go. If he would have said no to the murder, his fate would probably have been the same. Kenneth knew he would die if he didn’t resist. Perhaps he might have even the smallest chance of life if he fought the guards. They neared the cell. Now or never. Kenneth feigned a stretch, then quick and powerful, he elbowed one guard as hard as he could in the gut. Temporarily dazed, Kenneth struck out at the second guard. He nicked him in the chin, and knocked him back a foot. Instead of trying to finish them off, Kenneth bolted back the way they had come. He kept running and running, going through corridor through empty corridor. Kenneth slowed down when he realized he was alone, and the guards wouldn’t hear him if he was quiet. He started walking quietly, waiting for any sign of life. He kept going through similar corridors, each just leading to more like them. Until, at the end of one, Kenneth found himself in what looked like the control room. There were tons of computers, but nobody operating them. Kenneth took a few steps in, until he was in the middle of the room. The door suddenly shut loudly behind him and locked. He turned quickly, but saw nobody there. Suddenly, on all the computers, a face appeared. It was a face he recognized. It was the face of Abraham Lincoln. Then another image appeared. It was the face of JFK. Then another, James A. Garfield, another president, than William McKinley. These four Presidents had all been assassinated. The president Kenneth had assassinated was shown next. Then all the screens but five turned off. Each screen showed a different Presidents being shot. Kenneth fell to his knees. What was going on?! Kenneth wanted nothing more at this point than death. After a few seconds, all the screens went black, and the whole room with it. Kenneth collapsed on the floor, crying. His emotions eventually died down, and Kenneth fell asleep in that room. The pitch blackness welcomed him.